


The Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything

by SBG



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBG/pseuds/SBG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six weeks of Steve figuring it out. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6880516">Ho'oholo</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone finds my lost mojo, please to ship him back to me.

1-7

It was the constant low-grade pain with frequent bouts of more high-grade pain that was impacting his disposition, nothing more. Steve had been through a major set of traumas – being gut shot was the only thing that he remembered, but his body had experienced the plane crash and several surgeries without him being aware. He’d never come quite so close to death before, and that was saying something. All in all, he thought he had earned the right to be pissy and defied anyone to tell him otherwise. 

Not that anyone would. Not a one. Not that that was a problem.

Except it was and, okay, there was no good reason for it. The fact that it had been nothing but well wishes and concern since Danny had walked out the door was exactly how it should be. The very last way he should feel about that was irritated, but Steve had already started to find it grating.

“He might be in a bit of a mood right now,” the nurse relayed to Kono as he left the room and she entered it. “Rough session.”

Steve rolled his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest and looked to the other side of the room. He was moderately tired of the stream of visitors and wanted to get out, go home. Move on. Get things back to normal, though he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not ever again. He clenched his jaw, stared at the display of care and affection still lining his side of the room. The now-deflating helium balloons and wilting collection of flowers had once given him some cheer, but he knew it all had been a distraction from reality. The longer he was here, the more real reality became. 

And the reality was, Steve had to deal with this on his own because the one person he needed most to help him had turned into a ghost and, yeah, so maybe that was the reason why he was so pissed off and out of sorts, at least as much as the pain was. The steady flow of visitors and hospital staff meant he was rarely unattended, but he had never felt more alone. Well, he thought, he was just going to stop needing that whiny, negative asshole and that would be that. He was a Navy SEAL; he wasn’t so dependent on anyone that way. He’d recovered from severe injuries before.

“Hey, Steve,” Kono said, her tone tragic and solemn and cautious. The same tone she used when she wanted to mention Danny; she knew better than to go there now. “Howzit?”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, turning to look at her and forcing a smile to cover the fact that he had an enormous metaphorical hole in his life to accompany those stitched up on his body. 

He caught the pinched frown on Kono’s face before she could school her expression and he knew she’d picked up on his lie.

“Yeah?”

“Doctor says I’m right on track. I’ll get out tomorrow.”

Fuck Danny anyway. Who needed him? Not Steve.

8-14

“You ready to go, McGarrett?” Lou shouted from downstairs. “Or do you need more primp time?”

Steve grasped the edge of the vanity, hunched slightly over the sink. He had developed an unhealthy fascination with the new scars on his body. Lifesaving and important, yes, but at this point all he could see was how weak they made him. He was glad to be out of the hospital, but he wasn’t bouncing back fast from this. He closed his eyes, heard Danny reminding him this wasn’t a flesh wound. He wouldn’t be rushing in where angels feared to tread anymore, at least not anytime soon. 

He hated being weak. Hated it almost more than anything, hated being reminded of it. Hated that Danny had him pegged about that, always had him pegged. No one could point out his flaws quite like one Daniel Williams. Though he was grateful to be alive, Steve also hated that his survival had been dependent on major medical intervention. And Danny, of all people. He opened his eyes, stared at his abdomen, gingerly probed the scar. He winced, looked at his face, the dusky shadows under his eyes, the strain lines on his forehead and around his mouth. It hadn’t been that long, really, he had to realign his expectations.

“You’re a funny man,” Steve called, injecting as much lightness into his voice as he could. “I’ll be down in a second.” 

His friends continued to be a constant support, and he suspected he knew why they all seemed to trip over themselves to make sure all of the proverbial bases were covered. It wasn’t necessary, but he couldn’t begrudge them their clumsy attempts to close some gap they thought they perceived. Steve didn’t know why any of them thought he cared. His partner had chosen to break all contact and he was doing just fine alone, would be fine even if he didn’t have nearly constant companionship from the others. He tugged on a shirt and headed for the stairs.

“You know I can drive myself to these blood tests,” Steve said. “I’m not cleared for work, but I can navigate a vehicle just fine.”

“And manage to find yourself in fifteen different kinds of peril? I don’t think so. You, my friend, are a trouble magnet,” Lou said.

Steve felt a sudden sense of déjà vu and he couldn’t tell why. He followed a still-chattering Lou out the door, distracted by the sensation. It occurred to him as he climbed into the car that Lou’s words sounded exactly like something Danny would have said and he wondered how he’d never considered the two men to be similar before. He wondered, too, why he could shrug off Lou so easily, while tearing into Danny. A sudden spike of something akin to indigestion hit him.

“Hey, are you with me, McGarrett? Am I talking to myself here? See, this is exactly why you need to be the passenger for a change.”

Jesus, Steve didn’t want to be reminded of Danny at every turn. 

15-21

There were good days and bad days. On the good days, he woke up feeling human and on the bad days, he felt like he’d run back to back marathons during the night, with a chaser of depression. He was told it came with the territory but not to worry, that there were therapists available should he need them. Unless he started showing signs of rejecting his new liver, he had no intention of seeking out any extra medical (or mental) attention. Growing an organ back to its usual size apparently took a lot out of a person, something he also knew was a given. He was receiving the best of care and being monitored by doctors closely. He didn’t have much time to do anything but heal and think and become educated on all things post-transplant.

Steve had learned he was a prime candidate for transplant survival. He didn’t think he cared for the odds only being quoted to five years out, but then – in his line of work, living five more years had always been a gamble anyway, so he took that in stride. He’d learned a live transplant had better odds, even if the organ came from a loud-mouthed pain in the ass who’d shown remarkable reticence since his abandonment.

He jostled his leg up and down. He had this ever present simmering feeling of anger and he needed to unleash it. The problem was, he didn’t have an outlet. He couldn’t run or swim or jab at a punching bag. While most of the exercises he already did were part of the prescribed therapy to help keep the corticosteroid side effects to a minimum, he was still too fresh off of surgery to do any of them with the intensity which he needed.

So here he was, playing video games as an alternative. His competitor moved with the grace of a bull in a china shop, a bit exaggerated and enthusiastic, as if trying to make up for Steve’s lack of energy. His mind only half on what he was doing, Steve winced as his player went down in an inglorious blaze. 

“Okay, not to make a big deal out of this, but I just smoked you and I was barely even trying,” Jerry said. “I thought you knew how to play this game.”

“I do, Jerry. I guess I’m not feeling it today,” Steve said. 

“I get it, man.”

Steve doubted that. For all of his attempts to focus on the positive, he couldn’t help the underlying gloom. And if goofy, conspiracy-theory-loving Jerry couldn’t pull him out of his funk, he didn’t know if anything could. He’d learned that swings in mood could happen out of the blue.

“No, I really don’t think you do,” Steve said, then kept on going, “How could you? You’re sequestered in a windowless basement room all day with your half-baked ideas and delusions of grandeur. What do you know about reality, Jerry?”

Jerry looked at him for a moment, his face twitching only slightly from his pleasant expression.

“I think we all feel for what you’re going through.” Jerry stood. “But next time you need a whipping boy, take me off the replacement list. I get enough of my own abuse, I don’t need the misdirected aggression too.”

“What the hell does that mean? Replacement list?”

“I think you know the answer to that. Take care, Steve, okay? I’m down for anything but getting my head bit off for no reason.”

Steve watched Jerry leave and thought, finally, alone. The silence immediately felt like a live, hostile entity.

22-28

For the first several seconds after being wrenched out of sleep, Steve had no idea where he was. He lurched into a seated position too fast, had to spend a good amount of time biting back the pull of pain coming from his side. Surgical scar, he saw, his first link toward reality. He heard the swooshing of blood in his ears, but nothing else. His senses on high alert, he strove to control his breathing, get himself calm so he could figure out if what had him on edge was part of his subconscious meandering. 

He never remembered his dreams, only waking like this with a racing heart and the cold sweats. Unfortunately, he wasn’t unused to this kind of thing. A person didn’t see what he’d seen, do what he’d done without physical and emotional wounds. Steve dealt. After a few blinks to clear his vision and the sleepiness, he realized he was at home. Not in his bedroom, on the sofa downstairs. He checked the door automatically, found it secure. He was alone. His pulse was already returning to normal, the whole event having taken less than twenty seconds. 

His phone chimed.

Steve scrubbed a hand down his face, then reached for the device. The second he saw whose call he’d missed, his heart started picking up speed again. He could think of only bad reasons for a phone call. He didn’t waste time checking for a message, he hit the screen to call back and pressed the phone to his ear. 

_“Hi, Uncle Steve,”_ Grace said. 

Still a bit caught up in the adrenaline of waking and the new panic growing in him, Steve couldn’t tell if Grace’s voice was dispassionate because she was a teen now or if her tone was dulled by something more serious. His mind leapt, too much like Danny.

“Grace, what is it? Are you okay?” Steve asked. 

There was no instant response, which did nothing to ease his alarm. 

“Is it…” Steve swallowed. “Is it your dad? Is your dad all right?”

When Grace finally spoke again, it was preceded with a loud huff. 

_“Like you even care about my dad.”_

Later, after the shock of it wore off, Steve would envision the scowl that had likely been on Grace’s face when she said that and make a direct comparison to her father. Later.

“Hey,” Steve said sharply. “Of course I care about your dad. He’s my partner.”

More silence.

“Grace, where is this coming from?”

_“If you care so much about him, you’d call to check in on him. My dad gave you half of his liver.”_

Steve laid his left hand over the scar, pressed down on it just enough to feel it. He heard the anger in Grace’s voice; it was startlingly familiar to the same feeling he had every time he thought about Danny. Danny’s desertion. 

“I know he did. Your dad also asked me to stay out of his life.”

 _“He didn’t mean it!”_ Now there were tears to go along with the anger. _“I know everyone jokes about my dad being negative and miserable, but he’s not actually except now he’s really sad and you could fix it but you’re both being so stupid.”_

“Grace, slow down. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

_“It’s been weeks and he loves you, you know. God, why are boys so dumb about how they feel?”_

Grace ended the call before he could get another word in, but her words were plenty enough. They swirled around in his head for a long, long time, sparking thoughts he’d tried so hard to never think. About himself. 

About Danny.

29-35

Steve slung an arm across his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Like the previous ninety attempts to do so that night, this time also failed. He sat and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat with his elbows on his knees. Sleep was vital to his recovery. He had to fix what had his brain thinking too much at all hours, but he didn’t know how. He grunted, scrubbed his hands over his face and then through his hair. 

He picked up his cell, scrolled through his texts and stared at the screen.

_Hey, sorry about Grace. I don’t know what got into her._  
_S’okay, she loves you … Is it okay if I ask how you’re doing?_  
_Of course it’s okay, goof. I’m okay. You okay?_  
_I’m okay._  
_That’s good._

There was nothing profound in that exchange, no hint of anything but basic concern. Yet this wasn’t the first time he’d pulled those texts up when his thoughts drifted toward his conversation with Grace. Not just with Grace, though. He’d been thinking back to the beginning of this Danny embargo, and then back further. Steve wasn’t fond of introspection, of looking beyond the surface of his reactions to the root cause. He closed the texts and pulled up another name. 

_You awake?_

Which was a stupid thing to write. It was three in the morning, most people with day jobs were deep into dreamland at this hour. Steve shook his head, huffed out a laugh. Since he was up, he stood and tugged on a pair of jeans, a clean-ish shirt.

_Meet you in half an hour._

Chin was already in a booth when he arrived at the diner, cup of coffee steaming in front of him. Steve slid into the other side of the booth, nodding at Chin, who did the same. The silence with Chin was always calming, even when he didn’t know he needed that. This morning, though, his thoughts weren’t settling. He ordered a cup of coffee and a short stack, figuring if he was going for comfort he might as well get it from more than one source.

“You look tired,” Chin said, without looking at him. 

“It’s three-thirty in the morning and I’m awake,” Steve said. “Of course I’m tired. That’s a given.”

Chin glanced at him, eyes filled with amusement. He shifted his coffee aside, rested his elbows on the table. He looked like he had something to say, but the waitress arrived with Steve’s food plus a complementary blueberry muffin and a wink for Chin, and whatever might have been said was lost as they ate.

“Have you talked to Danny?” Chin asked after a while. 

“Not really. He banned me, remember?” Steve said. He shredded his napkin into tiny strips, made a paper haystack in front of him. “How is he?”

“About like you.” Chin gave him a small smile. “Except a little more obvious about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, you’ve got this kind of charisma that makes people want to do what you want them to do. We all follow your lead because of that. I’ve had time to think about that, with you and Danny both being out.” Chin chewed on his lip, leaned his elbows back on the table. “You’ve been … off together for a while, and I think by virtue of your lead, we all kind of pile on Danny sometimes. Sometimes it’s warranted, sometimes it’s not. We’ve all gotten a taste of what it’s like being on the receiving end these past few weeks.”

Steve opened his mouth to cut in, but Chin raised a finger at him. 

“I think you’ve had time to think about this, too, about what’s been changing. Why. And I think you’re the one who can steer where this goes. It just depends what you want. Do you want your partnership with Danny to keep going the way it has been or do you want it to change?” Chin said. “It’s pretty much that simple.”

36-41

What did he want? 

Steve had never been the sort to have to think much about the wants so much as the what-he-had-to-dos. Now that was thinking about it, the what-he-had-to-dos ultimately became his wants, which now struck him as sad. His life had been fairly well plotted, each goal achieved with relative ease. He worked hard at everything and made it happen. Now his naval career was officially over, and while he hadn’t thought much about the Navy for a couple of years, the finality of that was difficult to wrap his head around. Ultimately, returning to active duty wasn’t what he wanted. He’d mostly come to terms with it and he enjoyed leading Five-0. He did a lot of good here. His team was fantastic. Mostly. 

What did he want with Danny?

Everything else paled in comparison to the mental gymnastics he’d been doing about that subject lately. Danny had dumped a pile of shit at his feet and then run away. Steve had every right to be pissed off about that, and the anger had fueled him for a couple of weeks. All he’d been able to hear were accusations and all he’d been able to see was abandonment. Talking with Chin had made him really think. He regretted that his own issues had bled over into how the others viewed Danny, and him. The truth was, Danny had been right and Steve hated it with every fiber of his being, only proving the point – sometimes he _did_ kneejerk and sometimes he did use Danny’s weaknesses against him. He wasn’t blameless there. 

Steve also knew he wasn’t solely responsible; Danny had openly acknowledged his role in their mess. He had no solid idea what spurred Danny’s reactions and what made him feed off of Steve the way he did, though what Grace had said had been on repeat in his brain ever since their conversation and it had planted seeds. Interesting, terrifying seeds. Seeds he had fought against putting to root, probably for a lot longer than he would ever willingly admit.

For his own part, with Grace’s exasperation yet lingering as background noise in his brain, Steve was starting to develop a pretty good theory why he had honed in on Danny’s less attractive qualities. Why he went for blood like he was under attack. He _had_ been under attack, and as cliché as it was, sometimes the best defense was a good offense. He was never one to sit back and let himself be a target; it was easier to target the problem. 

Danny was a problem. Danny, with his constant need to pick the conflicting stance every time. Danny, with his whiney tone. Danny, with his irritating way of knowing how to push every last button. Danny, who knew Steve to the very heart of him. Danny, who had been a problem from the minute he landed a hard punch to Steve’s face. Danny, who was exactly the opposite type of person Steve normally found appealing. Danny, who he’d had to actively (yet subconsciously) attack to push aside that attraction. 

Steve knew what he wanted.

42

He drummed his fingers against his thigh, trying to burn off excess energy. He was positive about this, but the fluttering low in his gut said otherwise, and that feeling wasn’t from the transplant. Steve took a deep breath. Not one bit of this was going to be easy, but he was determined to make it happen. He got out of the truck and dialed the phone. It rang once, twice. Three times. Steve knew Danny was home, because he was parked behind the Camaro. Four times. He was at the door, the fluttering in his gut ramped up to full-on goldfish swimming around in there. Five times.

 _“Steve,”_ Danny answered at last, quiet. 

“It’s been forty-two days,” Steve said. 

_“Trust you to be so literal.”_ Danny let out a small laugh. It was like music. _“Tell me you don’t have a calendar at home with giant black Xes marking off the days.”_

“Danny, it’s not that I don’t want to shoot the shit with you, catch up or whatever, but, ah, I, uh…”

 _“Hey. You okay?”_

All serious now. Concerned. None of the rancor Steve had come to expect aimed at him.

“No, I’m not.”

_“Steve, what is it? You know what, no, I’m coming to you.”_

“Just open the door.”

The door opened instantly and there was Danny, looking almost exactly the same as always. Thinner. More relaxed. Fewer stress lines. _Danny._ He had a slightly harried look on his face, which shifted into a myriad of other emotions before settling on relieved amusement. He waved his phone awkwardly at Steve, then tossed it onto the console table in the entry.

“Jeez, Steve, what the hell is…?”

Steve heard Danny’s voice in his head all those weeks ago. _It’s because I love you._ He surged forward, grasping Danny by the biceps and pulling him close. It was rash, stupid, but he didn’t care. He put every word he’d never been able to say into kissing Danny, who was still against him for long enough Steve almost panicked. Then, like a switch had been thrown, they were exactly on the same page, sloppy and desperate and real. He drew back, breathless from the nerves and the kiss and god, Grace had been so right about them being stupid.

“I can’t do any of this without you,” Steve said. “And I really, really don’t want to.”

Danny smiled.


End file.
